


look back at me, after dark

by hakyeonni



Series: little incubus [1]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7493337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakyeonni/pseuds/hakyeonni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hakyeon is an incubus. jaehwan ignores his powers. both are intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter one—redux

**Author's Note:**

> so, this was borne of [this tweet](https://twitter.com/starsandsaints/status/751789809153093632) (yet another HUGE thank you to starsandsaints for giving me the outlet to begin dipping my toe into vixx fic! I really appreciate it). I hope you guys like it. Sorry if it's totally out of character or crap or whatever, I'm still feeling my way around, hehe...
> 
>  **NOTE (21/02/18):** what you're about to read, chapter 1, is a redux of the original fic. I rewrote it simply because I don't think the original is very good compared to the rest of the series; when I wrote it I had no intention of incubus becoming what it is today and thus it's lacking a few tiny pieces of context that, as time went on, became harder for me to ignore. Not to mention that in one and a half years my writing style has changed considerably (improved, I hope). But fear not! The original version is chapter 2 of this very fic—it's still here for you to read if you wish.

_Sex_. It’s all he can see, all he can smell as he steps into the club, the bass thudding through his entire body, making his teeth vibrate. Sex and lust and want. It glows, like a tangible thread he can practically _taste_ , and if he salivated over such things he would be leaving a trail of drool behind him as he makes his way to the bar. The bartender gives him a once-over before sliding him a beer, but it’s nothing special; exactly the kind of nonchalant glance you’d give an attractive person. That, more than his hunger, tells him he’s left it too damn long to feed. If he was full the bartender wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off him—but as it is he’s already turning away to serve another customer, and Hakyeon sulks, unable to help it.

He nurses his beer and watches for the time being. Unlike him to be so cautious—no doubt if Wonshik was here he’d be crowing that _finally_ his tactics are rubbing off on Hakyeon after so long of practically living in each other’s pockets—but if ever there was a time to be careful, this is it. There’s been rumours floating down the grapevine of attacks on immortals. Ordinarily he’d pay no mind to rumours, having been the subject of more than a few in the past, but this… this is different. Even he can sense that. Immortals are just that: immortal. Attacks (apart from vampire territorial spats) are rare. So. Caution. Even if he chafes at it.

At least he isn’t the only one chafing. There’s something so amusing about sober mortals before eleven, like they’re all afraid to make the first move; they’re all standing on the fringes of the room, eyeing each other off, the dance floor despondently empty even as the DJ continues to play higher and higher BPM songs in an effort to ease the awkwardness. It just heightens the tension, and Hakyeon can’t stop himself from smiling as he finishes his beer and pushes away from the bar to head to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. His skin feels too-tight, hot and prickly all over, and he stares at his reflection in the mirror like it’s something foreign, even though it’s the exact face he’s been seeing for the past three hundred and eighty six years (most of the time, anyway). As hungry as he is, just the sex in the atmosphere is enough to have his feeding instinct on edge, sharp and biting beneath his ribs. He shouldn’t have left it this long.

What he’s wearing is pretty standard, for him—black skinny jeans paired with black docs and a black oversized t-shirt made of a soft, billowy cotton, wide at the neckline and flowy in all the right ways. He knows it makes him look like water when he dances; he’s always liked theatrics, even if Wonshik likes to poke fun at the all-back uniform sometimes. He’s a creature of the night after all, a demon by some definitions—not his own, mind you—and so black just seems to fit. Perhaps he’s still rebelling against the bright fabrics he wore for most of his human life. Who knows.

Instead of evaluating his psyche even more, because if he continues he really _will_ be here all night and he _does_ need to feed, he leans in close to the mirror and stares at his own face. With a shiver he shapeshifts his hair to a bright silver, cocks his head, considers, shifts it back to its normal black. As he does his eyes glow yellow at him, fierce and familiar, and he knows that this is a frivolous, idiotic way to waste the last of his energy, but—he’s chafing, still. He’s just going to replace it anyway, so what does it matter? That’s what he tells himself as he uses the wall to support himself as he heads back out to the club proper, ignoring the way his head is spinning. Oops.

He really, _really_ shouldn’t have left it this long. Normally he’s not this careless, but it had been all too easy to ignore the lust building up in him—he’s practiced at it, after all—until Hongbin had said something earlier today. It’d just been a lewd joke, something off-the-cuff whispered behind Wonshik’s back to make Hakyeon laugh, but with a flash his mind had wandered and the hunger had ripped through his veins, so strong it had made him gasp. After so long of living with this hunger one would think he would be used to it hitting him out of the blue, but it had shocked him regardless. Now, as he threads through the crowd now thick with people, it’s nearly unbearable. It thrums in his veins, beats in time with his heart, makes his vision go slightly hazy as he heads for the dance floor; he needs to feed and he needs to do it _now_.

Thankfully it seems that the mortals have ingested enough alcohol to get over their shyness because the dance floor is crowded with people. He ignores them all and heads to a vacant spot, closing his eyes as he walks, focusing not on the bass thudding through his body but on the souls of the mortals that he can sense as he walks past. So much temptation, so much hedonism; he nearly drowns in it, almost feels like he _wants_ to as he empties his mind of anything and begins to move to the music.

All incubi and succubi can dance, of course—he’s never met one who couldn’t—simply because the art of seduction, as is their way, is so laced with it. But he’s different, he’s always been different. He was a dancer before he was turned, and he’s still a dancer, although it’s not his career anymore. He is as much a dancer as he is an incubus, the two parts of him intertwined, inseparable. It makes hunting easy, and for that he is grateful.

He dances with his eyes closed for a while, knowing that, even though the DJ is playing some heinous drum & bass remix of a top 20 hit he’s heard everywhere the past week, he looks graceful and lithe, the very picture of elegance and sexuality. When he finally opens his eyes again the place is packed and he can feel—see—eyes on him everywhere as he looks around. The mortals are drinking in his desperation, so evident in the way he moves, and he grins, sure he looks wild as he surveys them all. _Mine_ , he thinks, _mine to choose from, mine to hunt, yes!_ He scans the crowd, reading for those who will give him the most energy—and nearly stops moving entirely when his gaze catches on a man leaning against one of the club’s pillars, impossibly beautiful and wearing an expression that Hakyeon can’t categorise. He narrows his focus, trying to see not with his eyes but with his immortal senses and gets… nothing. _Nothing_. It’s strange, but between the rest of the mortals pressing in around him and the fact that he’s so hungry his skin is starting to twitch, he just cannot be bothered to examine it further. It would make sense that his senses are starting to go funny. If he could just _feed_ , he’d fix this… Turning on his heel, he makes a beeline for the bar, allowing himself to look over his shoulder at the man lest he follows Hakyeon.

He doesn’t, but he watches.

In the end Hakyeon makes a beeline for the closest human with the brightest soul, so bright it nearly hurts his eyes to look at. It’s so fucking easy to reel him in, almost disgustingly so; Hakyeon would be ashamed if shame was a feeling he hasn’t felt for centuries. Glance over at the man. Look away quickly, smile to himself. Look up again, make eye contact. Lure him in. The man is entranced even though Hakyeon’s practically running on fumes at this point; he’s still got it, and the kiss that they share right there in full view of anyone watching is made all the more sweeter by that knowledge. He gets a sliver of the man’s energy from that kiss, and—oh, god, it’s so pure he has to stop himself from being greedy, taking more, and breaks the kiss instead. They nearly fall over their feet to get to the bathroom, and after Hakyeon shoves another mortal out—who starts squawking with indignation the moment Hakyeon slams the door in his face—they fall on each other, heated and furious. Hakyeon sinks to his knees right there in the bathroom, blinking up at the man through his eyelashes, emboldened by the way the man begs for his mouth. As always the energy peaks with the man’s orgasm, and Hakyeon doesn’t even bother to hide how his eyes glow yellow as he feeds from it; _this_ is how he knows he is alive, _this_ is living, and he’s grinning as he catches the man when he pitches forward, suddenly drained of energy.

“Sorry,” Hakyeon murmurs, guiding him onto the closed toilet seat and helping him clean himself up, smoothing out his t-shirt from where it got crushed it in his fist. The man grins up at him dopily. “Having your soul fed on will do that to you.”

The man’s too exhausted to really take in what Hakyeon’s saying, and Hakyeon gives him the briefest of kisses before slipping out of the bathroom, his steps considerably lighter. The man will be fine after a good long sleep—fine except that Hakyeon’s just taken a good five or so years off his lifespan, but that’s just semantics, really. He does what he must to survive, and as he slips back to the dancefloor he wonders how the hell he left it so long—he feels slightly high, the rush of euphoria making his fingers all tingly. But the best part—oh, the best part by far—is that now he’s fed he’s glowing like a beacon to mortal eyes, and if people were interested before they’re practically boring holes in him with their eyes now. _This is power_ , he thinks to himself as he makes a beeline for where that strange man was, feeling bold.

He’s still standing exactly where he was, fresh drink in hand this time, watching Hakyeon just like all the others. But unlike the others he’s not mesmerised. He’s got a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and Hakyeon feels his gaze wash over his skin—it tastes acrid, a tiny bit bitter, and absolutely fascinating. He stops dead where he is—within direct line of sight to the strange man—and starts dancing, losing himself in the feeling of the music and the power that he now wields.

Time ebbs and flows strangely, marked only by the changing of songs. He dances not to try and attract anyone but simply because he enjoys it, hyped up on the man’s energy after a week of being low, and before long a woman, feeling particularly bold, approaches him, her eyes coy and full of want. Right before Hakyeon pulls her into a kiss—his hand on her waist, her hand in his hair—he flicks his eyes up to see that the strange man is watching him, and he nearly snorts. A voyeur, then. Good thing that Hakyeon’s an exhibitionist.

The woman’s energy is different to the man’s, which isn’t surprising—every mortal’s energy is unique to them, after all. She’s lighter, airier, and as her life flows into him he almost wants to take more. But he’s practiced at this. He’s much better at resisting urges than his vampire counterparts, and so he leaves it at that, appreciating what she’s given him without being greedy. His skin still feels prickly all over from the strange man’s gaze, but when Hakyeon looks at him again—the girl having wandered away, teetering on her heels—he still hasn’t moved an inch. The only clue that he’s actually alive and not a ridiculously attractive statue is how his glass is now empty and when their eyes meet he raises an eyebrow.

Hakyeon’s heart skips a beat, and that hasn’t happened for decades.

Something is… off. Even he can tell that. To mortals, with this much energy coursing around him, he’s irresistible. They’re drawn to him like moth to flame. It’s just the way his biology works—unlike the others, who have to stalk their prey in dark alleys, he has it relatively easy (as far as immortals go). But this man is showing no sign of being attracted to Hakyeon beyond his simmering gaze that says more than words could ever hope to. That fact that he hasn’t even moved is telling, but Hakyeon’s too high on energy to care—and he’s intrigued beyond all measure, so with no hesitation and certainly no regard for any consequences (what can a human do to him?) he stalks right over to the man to take the now-empty glass from his hand, put it down on the nearest table, and tug him backwards onto the dance floor. The man’s eyebrows shoot upward at this forwardness, but it just makes Hakyeon’s heart beat all the more faster.

“What’s your name?” he asks, hating how breathy he sounds, knowing it’s because of the fact that up close like this the man is _impossibly_ attractive, his features lifted straight out of the pages of history—his nose and lips could be found on any ancient Greek frieze, and his eyes are wide, sparkling with amusement.

“I’m Jaehwan,” the man replies, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. His voice is higher than Hakyeon was expecting but no less musical. “Nice to meet you. What’s yours?”

Hakyeon doesn’t really give two shits about his name, if he’s being honest with himself. He’s more interested in why Jaehwan seems completely unaffected by his presence—as close as they are, he should be showing outward signs of arousal. But his pupils aren’t dilated, and his heart isn’t racing; it’s beating strong and steady, and Hakyeon sways a little closer before he can help himself. It shouldn’t make him this turned on, this unknowing; he should probably be more worried than he is. But he’s a creature of decadence, and so he twines his fingers with Jaehwan’s, leaning in so his nose brushes Jaehwan’s hair. “I’m Hakyeon,” he says, loudly over the relentless _thump-thump_ of the bass. “What’re you doing here?”

He realises it’s an idiotic question as soon as he asks it, and it about to blame it on a faulty brain-to-mouth connection—being this close to Jaehwan is unnerving him, something he hasn’t felt for ages now—when he looks down and spots… huh. A tattoo on the back of Jaehwan’s hand. It’s oddly familiar, even though he feels like he hasn’t seen it before, and faint alarm bells start ringing in a distant corner of his mind. It’s a pretty leaf, etched with fine lines and careful shading, and he resists the urge to touch it. He’s about to ask about it, but when he looks back up and catches Jaehwan’s eye every question flies out of his head entirely. Jaehwan’s dropped whatever guarded expression he was wearing before, and all that’s written in his eyes is want, pure and unfettered. It’s a challenge, and Hakyeon _loves_ challenges.

“I’m here on business, obviously,” Jaehwan replies teasingly, his free hand snaking around to settle on Hakyeon’s waist. “That’s what everyone else is here for too, right? Business?”

Hakyeon snorts. He’s witty as well. Nice. “Yeah, it was a stupid question.”

For a moment, just the briefest, Hakyeon considers touching Jaehwan on the cheek. They’re all over each other anyway, seeing as they have to yell into each other’s ears over the music, and considering Jaehwan’s hand is still on his waist he doubts it would be out of line—but then he reconsiders. The more he draws this out the sweeter it’ll eventually be when one of them caves, so with self-control he didn’t even know he possessed he pulls away from Jaehwan and starts dancing.

Time doesn’t blur anymore. He’s hyper-aware of every second they spend dancing like that, separate and together, with others and alone. They’re in their own world, the two of them, the rest of the club fading away entirely. He’s very careful to not let his eyes glow yellow, as easy as it would be to let them. He can’t let Jaehwan know he’s not human, not when he’s this close to—to something. He doesn’t know what, but it’s something, something _big_ , and the more he walks the tightrope the more he wishes they’d just fucking kiss already so some of the tension would drain. He almost feels like he’s going to explode.

Instead of exploding he slides closer still until they’re practically on top of each other, but not in a gropey way. Instead Jaehwan’s hands on his hips are gentle, Hakyeon’s hands around his neck a caress rather than a passionate touch, and he has to carefully shapeshift away the blush that creeps up his neck. He’s done all manner of lewd, unmentionable things; this shouldn’t even make him bat an eyelid. But it does because it’s different, and different is special when Hakyeon’s as old as he is. Instead of doing something stupid—like dragging Jaehwan in for a kiss, which is what he desperately wants to do—he slides his hands down Jaehwan’s shoulders, tugs at the collar of his shirt, which is loose at the neckline just as his is. He’d thought he’d seen more tattoos peeking out as they danced, and he’s rewarded with the sight of them as he pulls at the fabric. They’re the same design as the one on the back of his hand, leaves in shades of grey, delicate and gorgeous—but dangerous, too, because the alarm bells are ringing louder now, although he’s still not sure why.

“These are…” he starts, letting his words trail off, letting Jaehwan interpret them however he chooses.

Jaehwan just smiles, that same smile that gives nothing away, and catches Hakyeon’s hands in his own, winding their fingers together. “I got them a long time ago,” he replies.

That’s a non-answer if Hakyeon’s ever heard one, but then again, it’s a non-answer to a non-question, so he can’t protest too much—even if he wants to, because there’s something about those tattoos that’s tugging at his memory, refusing to fade away. It’s like he has all the puzzle pieces laid out in front of him, but he just can’t make sense of it; the music and the humans all around him are muddling him to the point of incomprehension. But, he considers, as Jaehwan leans in a little more. Does it really matter?

They drift together softly, gently; it’s such a comparison to his feed in the bathroom earlier that it’s light-years away. All there is is the two of them, suspended in the moment—everywhere Jaehwan is touching Hakyeon his skin is warm, burning, and he doesn’t want to contemplate what that could mean so he just leans in and finally, _finally_ closes the distance between them. The anticipation of the rush of Jaehwan’s energy is hot on his tongue, nearly as good as the energy itself, and when their lips touch his eyes flutter shut, his blood surging as he breathes in—tasting—breathing in Jaehwan’s energy—trying—breathing—

Breathing nothing at all, because he gets no energy from Jaehwan in the slightest. He may as well be locking lips with a brick wall—energy-wise, at least, because kiss-wise Jaehwan’s a damn good kisser and he feels his knees going weak even as his mind is racing nearly as fast as his heart. He tries harder, deepening the kiss, but… nothing. There is _nothing_ for him to take. He can’t even sense if Jaehwan has anything to give. He can’t be human. He just can’t be. Which means he’s immortal—but what kind? How could Hakyeon not be able to sense him? He can smell vampires from a kilometre away, can sense another incubus as easily as breathing. But this… Jaehwan is _nothing_ , and he’s utterly confused right up until his eyes snap open and he remembers—

The tattoos.

 _Fuck_.

He breaks the kiss and goes to pull away, knowing he needs to leave and he needs to leave now, but Jaehwan’s grip—previously so gentle—is now horrifically strong, and Hakyeon’s locked there, unable to move. He shouldn’t be surprised. He really shouldn't be. But he is, and now his heart is racing not with anticipation, not with arousal, but with fear. He should have recognised those tattoos the moment he saw them, but he’s never seen them in person before—only in some of Wonshik’s texts he’s collected over the centuries, old, old immortal secrets that Wonshik is so fond of hoarding. He shouldn’t be surprised at that, either. Nephilim are incredibly rare. There’s a reason for that.

“You know, I’ve never kissed an incubus before,” Jaehwan muses, and before Hakyeon can react dives in for another kiss. Hakyeon loathes himself for being so weak, he does, because he swears he swoons a little bit at the feeling of Jaehwan’s lips on his. He doesn’t even get a chance to protest, though, because then—a strange tugging sensation in his chest, behind his breastbone, the verge of pain, and because his eyes are still open he can see Jaehwan’s eyes glow yellow, just as his must be.

“What do I taste like?” Hakyeon asks breathily—if only because this is better than calling Jaehwan an asshole for stealing his energy.

Jaehwan cocks his head slightly, and the yellow fades from his eyes, although it doesn’t make his features any less striking. “Like stolen time,” he whispers, but Hakyeon doesn’t have to strain to hear.

Hakyeon understands what he’s trying to say, but that doesn’t mean he appreciates it—technically he’s only alive today because he’s spent centuries feeding off mortals, but he’s not evil. The way Jaehwan’s phrasing it is making him into something he’s not. “Yeah, well, some of us have to eat to live,” he snipes, ignoring the way his face is flushed—and not least because he’s still pressed up against Jaehwan like they’re velcroed together. “Let me fucking go.”

To his surprise, Jaehwan does, loosening his arms and removing one entirely so the only place they’re touching is his hand on Hakyeon’s waist—but it’s not a restraining touch. It’s a gentle one, a suggestion, and Hakyeon bites back a sharp comment. The only things he knows about nephilim are that they’re rare and generally crazy—and he actually _likes_ being alive. Wonshik would kill him if he died. He doesn’t want to see Jaehwan’s rage, because something tells Hakyeon he has ancient power simmering beneath his skin. It’s power he wants nothing to do with.

“Good _bye_ , Jaehwan,” he says pointedly, taking a step back and raising his chin defiantly. It’s a distinct challenge: _if we’re gonna fight, let’s go_ (it’s bravado and they both know it—but still). Jaehwan, however, just smiles.

“Goodbye, little incubus. I’ll see you around,” he replies, and before Hakyeon can even begin to protest—he’s not _little_ —he steps backwards, putting space between them, and vanishes into thin air.

Hakyeon sags, his irritation sharpening into something that’s more akin to pure anger. He’d forgotten nephilim could do that, teleport in and out of existence with the blink of an eye, and it’s just an even bigger _fuck you_ since he now has to make his way home the mortal way. He’s not even happy about his feeds, either, since he’d been shifting his nails into sharp, pointed claws behind his back—lest he had to use them on Jaehwan—and so the edge of his glow is gone, stolen by Jaehwan’s kiss and now the shifting. And— _I’ll see you around_? Hakyeon sorely hopes not. Just because he is quite possibly the most attractive man ( _nephilim_ , his traitorous brain reminds him) he’s ever seen doesn’t mean a damned thing. Nephilim are trouble. They’re dangerous, in every sense of the word. Hakyeon doesn’t like danger; he leaves that to the vamps. Excitement? Sure. But not what Jaehwan represents.

Instead of musing on those thoughts, he turns and begins shouldering his way through the crowd, pissed off and wanting nothing more than to curl up in his own bed and forget he’s ever heard the name Jaehwan before (although knowing the vampires, he doubts he’ll get a moment’s peace once they find out about this). The one positive, he thinks grimly to himself as he emerges from the club into the cold, is that the one thing that can be counted on is that his life is never, ever boring.

 _What an evening,_ he thinks dryly, and turns to head home.


	2. chapter two—original

Hunting is easy for Hakyeon.  
  
It’s always been easy, even back when he was still new; it’s completely instinctual, like he was born to do this. And in a way, he was, reborn three hundred and eighty six years ago for this exact purpose – hunting.  
  
The first thing he does when he enters the club is make a beeline for the bar, flagging down the bartender and asking for a beer. Just one, because the alcohol sets him on edge, but he also wants to have his wits about him. Not that he needs them – his body knows what to do – but there have been whispers of attacks on their kind recently, just rumours down the grapevine, so it pays to be cautious. The bartender gives him a once-over but nothing more, just the exact kind you’d give an attractive person. If Hakyeon had just fed he’d be glowing and everyone’s eyes would be on him, but he’s bordering on starving and as such he’s just the same as every other person in the place.  
  
Except for the minor detail that they’re mortal and he isn’t. But that’s just semantics, really.  
  
Beer in hand, he turns around so he can lean on the bar and people-watch, one of his pastimes. It’s the pretty typical scene of a Hongdae club at 10 pm on a Saturday night – groups of people gathered together, most with beers or cigarettes in their hands, nodding their heads to the music. They’re clustered together tightly on the fringes, the dance floor looking despondently empty, and no-one is mingling. Hakyeon can’t help but smile as he takes a sip of his beer; no matter where you go around the world, no matter what language is spoken, people always start out the night awkwardly eyeing each other. Something about the collective psyche is too afraid to be the first one to stand out, the first one to make a move, so everyone hovers and watches instead, and Hakyeon does the same.  
  
After he finishes his beer, he pushes himself off the bar and heads to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He feels prickly, his skin almost too-sensitive, and knows that being here, surrounded in such a hedonistic place, is getting to him even when he’s deliberately tuning it out.  
  
He looks at himself in the mirror for a long moment, brushing his hair over his forehead. He’s gone with a relatively simple outfit today – a black t-shirt, fitted loose, over black skinny jeans. For a change – and because there’s no one else in the bathroom – he shifts his hair to a silvery blonde, to see how it would look with the outfit, but changes his mind and shifts back, watching his eyes flash a bright yellow with every shift, knowing he’s eating through precious energy. He doesn’t even have that much to spare– he’s running desperately low, and when he heads back out has to stagger along with the wall as a support for a few strides, his legs shaky.  
  
Careless, careless. It’s stupidly careless of him to go this long without feeding, but time had gotten away from him, and he doesn’t shapeshift all that often so he hadn’t even realised until a wave of lust had overcome him earlier in the day, lust that brought with it the ever-familiar hunger. It’s not a hunger that can be quenched through food or water or cigarettes or alcohol – this is a base need, something that runs deeper than that, something that Hakyeon feels thrumming through his veins as he pushes through the crowd, hyper-aware of all the bodies all around him.  
  
Clubs always set him off like this. Something about the combination of that many heaving, sweaty bodies, along with the veritable aura of sin and debauchery and pure hedonism, has Hakyeon rolling his neck, cracking his knuckles, thrumming with energy. When he closes his eyes, he can feel the souls of every mortal around him, just _waiting_ to be fed from, and he shivers.  
  
People have begin to filter onto the dance floor now, some of the shyness evaporating thanks to the wonders of alcohol, but Hakyeon ignores everyone else and heads for an empty spot, closing his eyes and moving to the music, letting his body take over. All incubi and succubi are good dancers – they’re all naturally gifted in anything that helps them get a feed – but he’s on another level. It’s what he did before being reborn, and it’s what he’s done since; dancing is so natural and instinctive to him it’s like breathing. Tonight is no exception, especially because he knows the desperation burning through him is readable on some subconscious level to the mortals, fueled by the way he’s moving his hips. He loses track of time, but it must be getting late because eyes are on him and when he comes back to himself the whole place is crowded and thrumming with people – and, most importantly, he has people _looking_. Looking is good, looking is easy to work with, and he scans the crowd, feeling for the most susceptible.  
  
His eyes skim over a man leaning against one of the pillars, watching Hakyeon, his eyes dark. His features are sharp, chiselled, his hair falling messily into his face, and Hakyeon is instantly intrigued. But when he tries to read the man, tries to gauge if he’d be successful or not, all he gets is a blank, which isn’t good – he must be more tired than he’d initially thought. So he turns away, weaving his way back through the crowd towards the bar, throwing a few glances over his shoulder at the man just in case he decides to follow.  
  
He doesn’t, and Hakyeon instead selects the nearest human with the brightest glowing soul, making eye contact with him for a while, smiling, looking away, looking back up, drawing the man closer. It’s the easiest thing in the world to pull him in for a kiss, right there in the club with dozens of people watching him, and it’s even easier to drag the man by the collar to the bathroom and sink to his knees. The pleasure is compounded by the life energy flowing into him, re-energising him, making him feel so fucking _alive_ – it peaks with the man’s orgasm, and Hakyeon helps him to sit down on the closed toilet seat, raising an eyebrow at his sudden fatigue.  
  
“Having your soul fed on will do that to you,” he mutters under his breath as he does the man’s shirt buttons back up for him, smoothing his collar gently from where it had gotten crushed under Hakyeon’s grip. “Sorry.”  
  
He leaves the man there once he’s made sure he’s neatly presented, knowing that after a short nap he’ll want to go home and sleep it off. Hakyeon has just taken a good five years off his lifespan, but _god_ , it’s worth it. He’d forgotten how fucking good feeding feels, and when he steps back onto the dancefloor, feeling weirdly floaty, realises he’d forgotten just how fucking attractive it makes him to mortals, too. Everyone’s eyes are on him and he knows, he _knows_ that when he’s practically glowing like this he’s too good to resist.  
  
The mysterious man is still where he was, a different drink in his hand this time, and he’s watching Hakyeon as he practically glides across the room. His gaze is different to the others, Hakyeon can taste it, it’s acrid and a little bit bitter and all the more intriguing. His curiosity is well and truly piqued, so he stops where he is – directly in the man’s eye line – and starts dancing again.  
  
Before long, he’s approached by someone – a girl, this time, and he dances with her for a time before dipping his head to kiss her. He doesn’t go further than that – he’s hungry, but not greedy – but knows his eyes flash yellow anyway when he feels a bit of her soul flow into him. The man’s gaze is burning, and Hakyeon half expects his shirt to have a hole in it from the weight of his stare, but as he sends the girl on her way back to her friends and turns he’s surprised to see the man still just standing there, watching coolly.  
  
Something isn’t right. Hakyeon is impossible to resist when he’s just fed (not once but _twice_ , as well) – to mortals, he’s intoxicating and exhilarating, and they find themselves drawn to him helplessly, like a moth to a flame. He knows that, this fresh, he could bring the whole club to its knees, and wonder why the fuck this man is being so stubborn. He’s interested, Hakyeon can tell that much, he just isn’t doing anything about it.  
  
So in two strides he bounds over to the man, crowding into his personal space and looking him in the eyes. Without hesitating, he circles his fingers around the man’s wrist and tugs, walking him backwards, onto the dance floor. “What’s your name?” he asks, breathlessly, because the man is even more gorgeous up-close like this, and Hakyeon is struck by his _lips_ , how full and kissable they are.  
  
“Jaehwan. Nice to meet you,” the man replies easily, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  
  
Hakyeon isn’t interested in formalities. He’s interested in knowing why this man – Jaehwan – seems so unfazed by him, and he’s also interested in the possibility of getting naked with him. “I’m Hakyeon,” he mutters into Jaehwan’s ear over the beat of the music, looking down to link their fingers together. “What are you doing here?”  
  
It’s stupid, vapid talk, and Hakyeon is just about to say something else when he catches sight of a familiar-looking tattoo on the back of Jaehwan’s hand. Distant alarm bells start ringing in the back of Hakyeon’s head, and he can’t quite put his finger on _why_ – but when he looks back up to see Jaehwan regarding him almost hungrily he dismisses them entirely. It’s clear that Jaehwan is interested, if that look is anything to go by, but he’s playing coy. Hakyeon decides he likes that, likes the idea of a challenge.  
  
“I’m here on business,” Jaehwan teases, leaning into Hakyeon, and Hakyeon can see him grinning widely as he pulls back. “What else do people usually do in clubs?”  
  
“Alright, it was a stupid question,” Hakyeon admits, wondering if it would be too forward of him to touch Jaehwan on the cheek. They’re practically all over each other, anyway, since he has to half-yell into Jaehwan’s ear to be heard, and the physical contact is almost too much for him to handle.  
  
With herculean self-control he manages to pull back to put some space between them. As much as desire is burning through him, amplified where they’re touching, he knows that drawing this out will be that much sweeter. So he does what he knows best – he dances.  
  
They dance together and separate, although never more than a few metres apart, and whenever Hakyeon swims out of his trance he sees Jaehwan watching him evenly, and that just spurs him on further. He has to be careful to not let his eyes flash yellow, although it would be so damn easy to when he’s feeling this high. That would be a dead giveaway, and he can’t afford that, not now – not when he feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff.  
  
As he dances, they slowly get closer and closer together, until Hakyeon’s got his arms around Jaehwan’s waist, and Jaehwan’s hands are settled on his hips like they’re meant to be there. It feels so strangely intimate that Hakyeon is almost suddenly shy, even though this is hardly physical, doesn’t even register on his scale. But Jaehwan’s gaze is soft, and Hakyeon’s buzzing too much to stay still, so he slides his hands up Jaehwan’s chest to tug at the collar of his shirt. He’d noticed more tattoos peeking out when they were dancing, and he’s rewarded with the sight of them. They’re pretty, delicate leaves etched over his collarbones, and they match the one on his hand. That sets the bells to ringing again, and Hakyeon’s slightly puzzled as he looks up at Jaehwan.  
  
“These…” he says, tapping his fingers on Jaehwan’s collarbone, the question implicit.  
  
Jaehwan smiles softly, and catches Hakyeon’s hand in his own. “I got them ages ago.”  
  
Something isn’t right, and it’s harder to ignore now that the puzzle pieces are beginning to click together in Hakyeon’s head. But he can’t quite get a grip on what it all means, and it’s hard to care when Jaehwan laces their fingers together like they’re not in the middle of a crowded club with people grinding on each other all around them.  
  
It seems like the most natural thing in the world to lean towards Jaehwan, such a contrast to his feed earlier that it seems worlds away. All there is is the two of them, suspended in the moment, Jaehwan’s hand tightening around his, his fingers digging into Hakyeon’s waist. The anticipation of the feed, of the rush of energy he’s going to get from Jaehwan, is almost as good as the energy itself and Hakyeon closes his eyes as their lips touch, inhaling, breathing in Jaehwan’s –  
  
Breathing in Jaehwan’s _nothing_ , because this is just a kiss, plain and simple. Hakyeon pushes into Jaehwan’s personal space more, his hand sliding into Jaehwan’s hair to tug his head down, deepening the kiss – but even as their tongues touch, there’s no energy there at all. It’s a fucking good kiss, that’s for damn sure, but it should be bolstered by the energy he normally receives – but instead, there’s nothing for him to take. His mind races – the only thing that Jaehwan can be is another immortal. But what kind of immortal would he be, for Hakyeon to be unable to read him? All he’s getting is human, just _empty_ human, and he’s utterly confused – until he remembers the tattoos.  
  
Breaking the kiss, he goes to pull back, but Jaehwan’s arms are locked around him and he’s suddenly strong, far too strong to be mortal. But then, he knows that, doesn’t he? The reason he hadn’t recognised Jaehwan’s tattoos on first glance is because he’s never seen them in person before, only illustrations from historical texts – nephilim are a rare breed, after all. But right now Jaehwan’s rarity doesn’t matter. Hakyeon is more concerned with getting out alive.  
  
“I’ve never kissed an incubus before,” Jaehwan muses, and before Hakyeon can move Jaehwan swoops in for another kiss, and even though it’s still _weird_ without the energy transfer Hakyeon feels his knees going weak a little bit, despite himself. He’s just about to protest when he has the oddest sensation, a gentle tugging below his breastbone, and when Jaehwan breaks the kiss his eyes are glowing yellow, just as Hakyeon’s are.  
  
“What do I taste like?” Hakyeon asks, and he was aiming for challenging but due to his breathlessness comes off more flirtatious and inwardly kicks himself.  
  
Jaehwan tilts his head, and the yellow fades from his eyes. “Like stolen time.”  
  
It’s an odd thing to say, but Hakyeon understands what he’s getting at – the only reason Hakyeon is alive as an immortal is through the theft of other’s life energy. It’s unsettling, and once again he tries to wriggle out of Jaehwan’s grasp unsuccessfully. “Yeah? I don’t even want to know what you taste like,” he snaps back, hating that he’s still sort of _liking_ being pressed up against Jaehwan. “Let me go.”  
  
Instantly, Jaehwan releases his death grip on Hakyeon’s waist, letting one of his hands settle on his hip gently instead. It’s definitely not a restraining touch, and it’s clear that Hakyeon could move away if he wanted to, but he finds himself _still_ standing there, even though every warning he’s ever heard about nephilim is running through his head. He half wants to get snippy and ask what Jaehwan’s goal is, but he knows that that could be a _very_ bad move. Jaehwan seems amenable now, but he could snap, and Hakyeon doesn’t want to be fallout.  
  
“Good _bye_ , Jaehwan,” he says somewhat pointedly, raising his chin. It’s a challenge, an unspoken _if you have a problem with me, let’s go_ , but Jaehwan simply smiles.  
  
“I’ll see you around, little incubus,” he replies, and before Hakyeon’s hackles can rise – _little?_ really? – he steps backwards, his hand falling from Hakyeon’s waist, and vanishes into thin air.  
  
Right. He’d forgotten that nephilim could do that. Which makes it all the more irritating that Hakyeon has to get the mortal way home, and he can’t even be happy about his feeds because the edge of his glow is gone, stolen both by Jaehwan’s kiss and the way he was shifting his hand into a claw behind his back just in case. And what the fuck had he meant by _I’ll see you around?_ Everyone knows nephilim mean nothing but trouble, and Hakyeon wants no part of that – none whatsoever.  
  
So, somewhat dejectedly, he shifts his hand back to normal and turns to head out of the club, his head spinning slightly.  
  
What an evening.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ♡


End file.
